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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22718542">Light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre'>Fyre</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Little Kindness [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternative Perspective, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:01:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22718542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, he had the time to work out himself. Who he could be without Tracy there as his support and his sounding board. Being Avery Fell, as he truly was. Not pretending. No façade. Simply himself.<br/>Lord, for the first time in his life, he could be what he chose. He didn’t need to pretend, to wear an eternal role, to treat all the world as a stage and keep his true self in the wings, out of sight, out of mind.<br/>It was new and it was terrifying.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anthony J. Crowley/Avery Fell (Slow Show)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Little Kindness [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Slow Show Metaverse</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts">mia_ugly</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, yes, I know. I've jumped a bit of the timeline, but I was having a crummy day and this scene has been sitting in my head like a burning coal for days now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It almost felt like a fresh start.</p><p>Between finding a new place and adjusting to life without Tracy puttering about and flying back and forth between Belfast and London, Avery had barely had time to settle himself. It felt odd to come back to a flat and not hear music or get himself tangled in a pair of stockings hung up to dry in the doorway.</p><p>He set down his case, gazed around the stacks of boxes and papers and…</p><p>And tried not to imagine what Crowley would say about the mess, how he would tease and feign shock that the bookshelves were visible and – how embarrassing, angel – empty!</p><p>“Enough,” he told himself. Gently, though. Gently.</p><p>Anthony was right. What they’d had… what they were doing… it had been a guilty pleasure for him, but he’d been holding Anthony back. The man deserved to shine, stepping into the light with all his happiness. He didn’t need or deserve to be dragged back into the shadows, as if he was some kind of shameful secret.</p><p>No. Not for him.</p><p>Bright and brilliant like a star. The world deserved him.</p><p>And oddly, as sad as he was, Avery was also happy for him. He’d fought so hard against things that had hurt him in the past. He’d learned what it was to spiral downwards and deeper and hurt himself. But now…</p><p>It was good that he was taking care of himself.</p><p>It <em>was</em>.</p><p>And they were all right. They would be. They’d… they’d had time apart. Time to process. Time to just… yes. They were able to smile at each other, laugh, and they would be all right. Not the same, but enough. It was more than enough. To love and be loved, in whatever form that took.</p><p>Now, he had the time to work out himself. Who he could be without Tracy there as his support and his sounding board. Being Avery Fell, as he truly was. Not pretending. No façade. Simply <em>himself</em>.</p><p>Lord, for the first time in his life, he could be what he <em>chose</em>. He didn’t need to pretend, to wear an eternal role, to treat all the world as a stage and keep his true self in the wings, out of sight, out of mind.</p><p>It was new and it was terrifying.</p><p>So he puttered around the flat for the first day or two. Tidied up. Started putting shelves in order. Tidy home, tidy mind and all that. Even went so far as to ask Tracy for a few of her awful, awful photographs. A montage, he told her, to remind him of the good old days. She laughed herself sick and called him a soft lump.</p><p>And they were all right too.</p><p>She’d come around and they’d had a bit of a housewarming on one of his weekends between shoots. The only thing that had really changed was that he wasn’t finding her lacy bras and knickers hanging up in the shower anymore (if he missed them, she’d said generously, she’d sneak in while he was away filming and plant a few around the house to surprise him when he got back. He’d declined, but she’d still got a key and he had a feeling it <em>would</em> happen at least once)</p><p>On the Saturday, he ventured out to explore the streets nearby. He’d always enjoyed wandering into a newsagent for the Saturday papers, then settling down in a quiet café to read them over tea and a decent breakfast. It didn’t take long to stumble on a rather charming café that looked rather more like a bistro with natural wood and plants and young men with intensely-groomed beards and ponytails.</p><p>Unsurprisingly, it was quite quiet. Most sensible people weren’t up in the small hours on a Saturday morning.</p><p>Avery choose a small table – every one in the place was casually mismatched in shape and style. For the aesthetic, no doubt – in a comfortable nook at the corner, tucked between sturdy bookshelves and a couple of winged-back leather chairs.</p><p>The menu was a little more extravagant than he’d expected but he was never one to say no to a somewhat more upmarket full-English, especially when the tea came loose-leaf in a beautifully ornate china pot.</p><p>He worked through the newspaper as he ate, though he stopped, fork halfway to his mouth when he leafed onto the entertainment page of the Guardian. For some inexplicable reason, there was a months old picture of Crowley clinging to his BAFTA.</p><p>“What on earth…” he set his fork down, shaking open the rest of the page.</p><p><strong>Anthony Crowley: Out of the shadows, under the spotlight</strong>.</p><p>His eyes burned so suddenly that the words blurred and danced.</p><p>What were they saying now? What dreadful rocks were they overturning to hurt him?</p><p>Avery blinked hard, took a steadying breath, tried to rein in his emotions.</p><p>Of course, then he read the article.</p><p>The reporter’s observations – her praise – were enough to draw his chest tight, to make him tremble, but then…</p><p>But then…</p><p>
  <em>First off, I’m not a poet or anything</em>
</p><p>The paper trembled in his hands and he tried, tried, tried to steady his breathing. He was an <em>actor</em>. He could hide his emotions. He had spent his whole life hiding them. What the hell was he doing if he couldn’t hide them now?</p><p>
  <em>It’s going to be hard, I’ll tell you that from the start. However hard you think it’s going to be, I promise you it’ll be worse.</em>
</p><p>“Oh my dear…” Avery’s voice was a wreck of a thing, a broken whisper.</p><p>Perhaps the words weren’t meant for him, but every one of the resonated, a tap of a fork to crystal, vibrations shaking him down to his bones. <em>Wherever you are on that path</em>. Out of the shadow, under the spotlight. Or hiding. Hiding away.</p><p>
  <em>People will want to be there when you’re ready for them.</em>
</p><p>No anger, there. Understanding. So much understanding. The words of a man who had hidden in the past. The words of a man who knew the weight of it, who knew the fear, who knew <em>all</em> of it, who had burned and risen from the ashes like a phoenix, and now, gave the world the words to know it would be all right.</p><p>Avery pressed a hand to his mouth, unable to stifle the sharp sob.</p><p>Not for him, but for all of them. The ones like Crowley. The ones like him. Everyone anywhere in between who needed to know it and hear it from one of their own.</p><p>
  <em>Anyway, whoever you are, I want you to know that I’m proud of you. If you’re queer and alive in this fucking world, I’m proud of you.</em>
</p><p>Queer and alive.</p><p>Yes, he was that. They were both that. They… impossibly, they had both survived in this bastard of a world. Flotsam and jetsam in the storm, they had been flung together. They had caught one another by the hand, pulled each other to shore, if only for a moment.</p><p>
  <em>You’re going to think you have to do it alone – but you don’t and you can’t. People will want to be there when you’re ready for them.</em>
</p><p>“Oh darling,” he whispered. “Not a poet indeed.”</p><p>When you’re ready.</p><p>The words rang back to him, like the call and response of evensong.  </p><p>I’d never take this choice from you.</p><p>When you’re ready for them.</p><p>And the tears poured down his face like rain and he couldn’t stop them. The word were for the world, but the thread running through, the promise, the invitation, the offer, the truth of them was like oxygen to that tiny useless flickering ember in his chest.</p><p>
  <em>A day will come when you can let it go.</em>
</p><p>People knew already. People knew and the world hadn’t ended. People knew and didn’t hate him. People took Crowley, polished to a shine, an icon, a star, and held him up for everyone who needed to hear. They could be queer <em>and</em> alive. Not in hiding. In the light. Like him. Like Anthony.</p><p>Avery’s fingers trembled against his lips. </p><p>No more masks. No more façades. No more hiding.</p><p>Maybe it was too late for them. Maybe he couldn’t repair the damage he had done, but if he could… if he could be brave enough, step forward, wouldn’t it be worth it to bask in a little of Crowley’s reflected light?</p><p>Crowley had held out his hand for long enough, waiting for Avery to take the step, to move to his side. He had done everything. He had said <em>everything</em>. He had never pushed or cajoled, even though it had cut him up piecemeal.</p><p>All Avery had to do was be brave enough to take that step. Feel the warmth of the light. No matter what anyone else thought. Take the chance, the risk, the hope.</p><p><em>I’m proud of you</em>.</p><p>Avery brushed his fingertips along his wet cheeks. He fished into his pocket, groping for his telephone, even though it took him half a dozen attempts to unlock the damned thing. His hands were shaking again and he dialled.</p><p>“Bugger off, Az,” Tracy grumbled when she finally picked up. “It’s not even ten o’clock!”</p><p>“Trace?” Lord, was that his voice. He sounded like a frightened schoolboy.</p><p>“What’s the matter, pet?” Grumpiness gave way to concern. “You all right?”</p><p>He looked down at the paper in front of him again.</p><p><em>When you’re ready</em>.</p><p>“Can I ask a favour?” he asked, swallowing back a fresh wave of bloody useless tears.</p><p>“Course.” He could hear her rustling, probably still in bed.</p><p>“It…” He swallowed hard again. It had to be there. It had to be then. It had to be clear to everyone, not just Crowley. “The season four wrap party. Can you come? With me?”</p><p>There was a long silence. “Az, why’s this got you so wound up?”</p><p>He set down the paper and scrubbed at his eyes. “I–” He laughed shakily. “It’s time. To…to let everyone – to let him – know.”</p><p>Tracy gave a small, happy gasp. “Oh, love.”</p><p>“You’ll come? Please?”</p><p>“With bells on!” she exclaimed. “Literal ones, if you’d like.”</p><p>He laughed damply. “Just metaphorical ones are fine,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “I’d like to have you there. I mean… just in case. I’d– well– just in case.”</p><p>“I know,” she said, warmly. “I love you, you silly queen.”</p><p>And somehow, he still had tears left and they rolled down his cheeks, but he was smiling. “I know. I love you too, Tracy.”</p><p>And from the sound of it, she was in as much of a state as he was. “Oh, stop that, you daft beggar! I don’t need this before I’ve had my coffee!”</p><p>He laughed helplessly. “Sorry!”</p><p>“No you’re bloody not.”</p><p>“No,” he agreed, unable to stop smiling. “I’m really not.”</p><p>“Arsehole,” she grumbled cheerfully. “Send me the details and I’ll pick out a nice frock.”</p><p>“I will. Thank you.”</p><p>“Bugger off.” He could hear the smile before she hung up.</p><p>He set down the phone and picked up the paper again. A decision made, then.</p><p>Maybe there would be a headline like that for him one day. Out of the shadows.</p><p>And maybe, he thought – hoped – prayed – Anthony would be waiting for him in the light.</p>
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